his plate. “Ivy, I’m glad you have a piece of silver. There are two things every new Martis needs. One is silver.”
“What’s the other one?” I asked.
“Not what, but who . There’s some one you need to meet—an old Martis. Older than me. Come on. It’s not far. I’ll take you since Jake is lurking.” He slid out of the booth and asked, “Where are your books?”
I glanced down at the table, “I left them at the school.” Shrugging, I added, “I didn’t need anything anyway.” I’d left Collin in such a hurry that I didn’t grab them.
He laughed, “We have a test tomorrow. If you used your textbook for more than a doorstop, you’d get straight A’s. You know that, right?” He leaned against the side of my booth wearing jeans, sneakers, and a crisp white tee shirt. The scent of dryer sheets and Ivory soap lingered. Eric smelled wholesome.
Laughing lightly, I scooted out of the booth, saying, “Yeah, yeah. You sound like my mom.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Eric drove without saying much, lost in his own thoughts. As we passed the Cape Cod style houses that lined the streets, we entered a neighborhood filled with life. Pumpkins lined front porches; while the more decorated houses had haystacks perfectly piled, and cornstalks tied to the porch post. I loved autumn on Long Island. It was my favorite time of year.
We pulled up to St. Bart’s parking lot a few minutes later. It was a nondescript looking church. That meant no one noticed it, because it had nothing striking about it—at all. The façade was brown, the grass was fading with the upcoming frost, and there were a few evergreens on the lawn. In other words, it was ugly, but not eyesore ugly.
Eric pushed the doors open, and I followed him inside. The hallways were silent and dark. We wound through a maze of halls, and passed a few nuns. We entered a sitting room with a haggard old nun sitting in a rocking chair. It was hard to tell, since she was wearing nun clothes, but I was sure she was built like a brick. Her body had a rectangular frame, bent with age. Her face had angular features, which must have been pretty in her youth. Sun damaged skin freckled her cheeks, and wiry hair that was devoid of color framed her aged face. Her gaze was intensely focused on the book in her hands.
Eric cleared his throat.
The nun looked up and smiled, “Ah, Eric. My favorite. Come on over here and help an old lady up.” Sister Al put her book down on the table. She raised her hand to Eric. He took it, and placed his other palm on her elbow to steady her.
This was the woman who was going to teach me how to stay alive?
“Ivy Taylor, wipe that smug look off your face.” Al’s voice was noticeably less sweet than it was a moment ago. Her black habit swished around her ankles, as she spoke. My eyes darted to the floor. “That’s better,” she said. “Things are not always what they appear.”
I nodded, at a loss for what to say. “Yes ma’am.”
The nun laughed at that. “I’m Sister Althea. You may call me Sister Al.” She extended her speckled hand toward me. I placed my grip in hers. Her ancient shake had the vigor of a twenty-year-old.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said. My gaze darted to Eric, who had sat in one of the padded chairs. “My name is Ivy Taylor.”
“I know who you are child. I know that there are great things planned for you. I know you survived already,” she winked when she said survived , “and I know that you feel cast adrift and afraid.”
I felt silly for admitting it to a stranger, but she was right. “That sums it up pretty well.”
“Uh huh. I know so.” She pointed toward a chair on the other side of Eric, and returned to her rocker. “I’m older than dirt, honey. I know lots. Just ask Eric.” She paused for a moment, watching me. “There’s something different about you,” she said. I tried to hide my panic, but I had a feeling that I couldn’t hide anything from this woman. There was something
“What’s the other one?” I asked.
“Not what, but who . There’s some one you need to meet—an old Martis. Older than me. Come on. It’s not far. I’ll take you since Jake is lurking.” He slid out of the booth and asked, “Where are your books?”
I glanced down at the table, “I left them at the school.” Shrugging, I added, “I didn’t need anything anyway.” I’d left Collin in such a hurry that I didn’t grab them.
He laughed, “We have a test tomorrow. If you used your textbook for more than a doorstop, you’d get straight A’s. You know that, right?” He leaned against the side of my booth wearing jeans, sneakers, and a crisp white tee shirt. The scent of dryer sheets and Ivory soap lingered. Eric smelled wholesome.
Laughing lightly, I scooted out of the booth, saying, “Yeah, yeah. You sound like my mom.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Eric drove without saying much, lost in his own thoughts. As we passed the Cape Cod style houses that lined the streets, we entered a neighborhood filled with life. Pumpkins lined front porches; while the more decorated houses had haystacks perfectly piled, and cornstalks tied to the porch post. I loved autumn on Long Island. It was my favorite time of year.
We pulled up to St. Bart’s parking lot a few minutes later. It was a nondescript looking church. That meant no one noticed it, because it had nothing striking about it—at all. The façade was brown, the grass was fading with the upcoming frost, and there were a few evergreens on the lawn. In other words, it was ugly, but not eyesore ugly.
Eric pushed the doors open, and I followed him inside. The hallways were silent and dark. We wound through a maze of halls, and passed a few nuns. We entered a sitting room with a haggard old nun sitting in a rocking chair. It was hard to tell, since she was wearing nun clothes, but I was sure she was built like a brick. Her body had a rectangular frame, bent with age. Her face had angular features, which must have been pretty in her youth. Sun damaged skin freckled her cheeks, and wiry hair that was devoid of color framed her aged face. Her gaze was intensely focused on the book in her hands.
Eric cleared his throat.
The nun looked up and smiled, “Ah, Eric. My favorite. Come on over here and help an old lady up.” Sister Al put her book down on the table. She raised her hand to Eric. He took it, and placed his other palm on her elbow to steady her.
This was the woman who was going to teach me how to stay alive?
“Ivy Taylor, wipe that smug look off your face.” Al’s voice was noticeably less sweet than it was a moment ago. Her black habit swished around her ankles, as she spoke. My eyes darted to the floor. “That’s better,” she said. “Things are not always what they appear.”
I nodded, at a loss for what to say. “Yes ma’am.”
The nun laughed at that. “I’m Sister Althea. You may call me Sister Al.” She extended her speckled hand toward me. I placed my grip in hers. Her ancient shake had the vigor of a twenty-year-old.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said. My gaze darted to Eric, who had sat in one of the padded chairs. “My name is Ivy Taylor.”
“I know who you are child. I know that there are great things planned for you. I know you survived already,” she winked when she said survived , “and I know that you feel cast adrift and afraid.”
I felt silly for admitting it to a stranger, but she was right. “That sums it up pretty well.”
“Uh huh. I know so.” She pointed toward a chair on the other side of Eric, and returned to her rocker. “I’m older than dirt, honey. I know lots. Just ask Eric.” She paused for a moment, watching me. “There’s something different about you,” she said. I tried to hide my panic, but I had a feeling that I couldn’t hide anything from this woman. There was something
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